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Almost the first thing Mr. Dunworthy had said to her that first time she had told him she wanted to go to the Middle Ages was, “They were filthy and disease-ridden, the muck hole of history, and the sooner you get rid of any fairy-tale notions you have about them, the better.”
Dr. Ahrens was right in wanting to cauterize my nose. Everyone, even the little girls, smells terrible, and it’s the dead of winter and freezing cold in here. I can’t imagine what it must be like in August. They all have fleas. Lady Imeyne stops even in midprayer to scratch, and when Agnes pulled down her hose to show me her knee, there were red bites all up and down her leg.
He didn’t take the candles or say anything, and she frowned, wondering if in her eagerness to protect him from Imeyne’s wrath she had broken some rule. Women were not allowed to touch the elements or the vessels of the mass. Perhaps they weren’t allowed to handle the candlesticks either.
